


You Think YOU'VE Got Problems

by murderofonerose (atmilliways)



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: And that happens forever, M/M, Murderface and Toki both think they're helping, They have a really stupid argument
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:55:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26976211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atmilliways/pseuds/murderofonerose
Summary: “You can’ts just steal mines clothes!”“Well you stole mine first!”“It was darks! Because yous stupids room don’ts got no windows for lights!”“That’s whatlight switches are for!”~The argument never gets any more sophisticated than this, really.
Relationships: Nathan Explosion/Skwisgaar Skwigelf
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	You Think YOU'VE Got Problems

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Kloktober 2020 day 12 prompt, "Ladyklok or outfit swap." I picked the second one. 
> 
> Maryrose wanted more Nategaar content, and since I’m not working on Literally Anything just now I arbitrarily decided to write something where they’re having a stupid grump-off and Do Not Kiss for the entire fic. Weird choice self, given today’s prompt, but okay. I can roll with it.
> 
> Mostly dialogue because otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to finish this in time.

“You can’ts just steal mines clothes!”

“Well you stole mine first!”

“It was darks! Because yous stupids room don’ts got no windows for lights!”

“That’s what _light switches are for!_ ”

“ _Well I don’ts remembers where those ams now screamings don’t torns them on no mores!”_

Quite a ways away, in the living room hot tub, Pickles lifted one of the relaxing cucumber slices off his eyes and looked around, then sighed. He’d just gotten to the tail end of a nice trip on some great hallucinogens, really top shelf stuff, but now the ambiance was ruined. 

“Well,” he muttered to himself, “guess that honeymoon’s over.”

Then he signaled for a Klokateer to bring him a drink to drown out the yelling. 

* * *

Nathan slammed the door to Murderface’s room open. “I need to talk shit about Skwisgaar for a while,” he announced loudly, practically still yelling. “You in?”

“Yeah, schure, that guy’sch a dick.”

“I know, right?! Ugh, but let’s go somewhere else, I’m not sitting on the electric chair again.”

“I put an electric whoopee couschion on there _one time_ and you juscht can’t let it go. . . .”

* * *

“It ams uns-reskinsables! Looks whats this,” Skwisgaar griped, waving one of his black sleeveless shirts around while pacing the room. Toki, who was sitting gingerly on the end of the lead guitarist’s bed for lack of other furniture, tried to be subtle about leaning out of range. The shirt didn’t smell like it had been washed super recently. “He stretches it all out to shits! I can’ts even wears it no mores!”

“Well that’s not great. But Skwisgaar, you gots a whole closets of more shirts to wears. . . .”

“No I don’ts!”

“You’s wearing ones right now,” Toki pointed out, exasperated. 

Skwisgaar came to a halt and threw the shirt to the floor, glaring at his bandmate. “Nots the point,” he snapped. “You knows what he dids to mine belt?”

“Uhh . . . stretches it?”

“It didn’t fits him so he _pokes a new hole whats to buckle it_.”

“Yeah, Nathan sure ams bad at belts.” Toki rested his elbows on his knees and his chin in both hands. “He doesn’t events wear thems most times, why did he put yous on?”

* * *

“So I finally find some fucking pants, and they were his, so fucking what. But he’d left the goddamn belt in the stupid loops!”

Murderface cracked open another beer and put his boots up on the sawblade kitchen table. “Beltsch can be tricky.”

“They are! They’re fucking tricky!”

“Beschidesch,” the bassist continued, “they schlow thingsch down in the getting laid department, everyone knowsch that. That’sch why I never bother with ‘em. Gotta keep thingsch _accheschible_ , becaushe you never know when the mood might schtrike.”

Nathan paused in bulldozing through his second bag of Doritos and frowned. “Uhh . . . I think we’re getting into a weird area here.”

“. . . Yeah fine, schorry.”

“Anyway, it’s own his stupid fault. When you’re looking for your clothes but you find someone else’s, you don’t just _put those on._ Like, who goes—” he screwed up his face and went on in a half-falsetto—“‘Oh, uh, whatever I grab first has to go on my sweaty body, that’s the rules, can’t do anything about it!’”

“I’ll tell you who doesch that, Nathan,” Murderface said somberly. “No one. No one doesch that. Becaushe that’sch grosch.”

“I know! And you know what else? He put his _feet_ in my boots. Now I’ve got someone else’s foot stink in my _boots!_ ”

“That’sch juscht wrong.”

“So what do I _do?_ How do I make him apologize for all that shit?”

Murderface sighed and shook his head. “Nathan. . . . Nathan. Here’sch what you’ve gotta do.” He folded his hands, for the sole purpose of then spreading them dramatically. “You’ve got to hold out on him until he cavesch.”

* * *

“Ja, I knows nots to have sex withs him til he appolgisecks,” Skwisgaar snapped haughtily. “Whats does you think I’s doings _right nows?”_

“Nots got to be an apology, necessarilies,” Toki replied. “Nots the actual words. Ins the tee vee shows, the ones whats goes to starts a hug or a kiss forst ams secretlies saying sorries without hasing to _says_ it. So yous gots to not do _nones_ of thats, because then you lose the arguments.”

“Noes,” Skwisgaar gasped, aghast. “But I am _rights_ , I can’ts lose!”

“I knows! That’s why you can’ts do _nones_ of that stuffs!”

* * *

**One Week Later**

* * *

Not bothering to knock on the office door, Pickles strolled into Offdensen’s domain with a casual, “Hey chief, you busy?” before sprawling in one of the chairs before the desk. 

“Yes I’m, ah, quite busy.” Charles didn’t look up from his computer beyond an acknowledging glance. “What can I do for you, Pickles.”

“Recording ain’t going so good.”

“Yes, I’d, ah, noticed that in the lack of progress recently.”

“It’s ‘cause Nathan and Skwisgaar are havin’ a thing.”

That caught the manager’s attention, and he looked up over the top of the laptop. “‘Thing?’”

Pickles snickered. “Yeah, dumb dildos had a fight about something stupid and now they’re each holding out until the other one decides to let it go first.”

“They’re . . . holding out.” Charles looked very much like he wanted to rub at his temples to alleviate what he knew could soon turn into a headache. “Help me understand what that means.”

“It means they’re hittin’ on each other left and right trying to get the other one to make the first move, ‘cause whoever makes the first move loses the fight.”

“. . . Thank you. That’s, ah, a very perceptive assessment.”

“Well yeah, everyone keeps coming by and tellin’ me all about it whenever I’m tryin’ to just chill. It’s half annoying, half the funniest damn thing.”

“I fail to see how this is funny, Pickles. It’s causing problems within the band and hampering your ability to work on this album, which is already long overdue. I’ll, ah, have to speak to both of them about this.”

Pickles snorted at Charles’ flat monotone. “Don’t sound too enthusiastic there now. But hey, do me a favor, okie?”

“What favor would that be?”

“When you talk to ‘em, can I have the security tape after? This shit is a hell of a lot better than most daytime tv.”

* * *

**Several Hours Later**

* * *

“Nathan. Skwisgaar. I think you both know why I’ve asked you here,” Charles said, sitting down on one of the office couches. 

Both musicians were sitting on opposite ends of the couch across from him, which he’d directed them to in the hopes that this meeting would feel less like being called into the principal’s office to be scolded for unacceptable behavior. Each had their arms crossed and they were stubbornly not looking at each other. In the absence of a guitar to play, Skwisgaar’s fingers twitched and his foot tapped fitfully on the carpeted floor. 

In the face of their silence, Charles continued. “We had a conversation when I first learned about the, ah, arrangement. Between the two of you. Do you remember that?”

Nothing. 

“We, ah, discussed the impact that this might have on the band as a whole, and that if there were any detrimental effects down the road we would have to . . . have this discussion again. And the two of you insisted that you would not have it with Twinkletits, despite his credentials.”

Skwisgaar’s foot tapping increased. 

“So. . . . Please tell me what’s going on here. So I can, ah, mediate.”

Silence. It was going to be a long meeting. 

* * *

“Ands then _he_ stretches outs mine shirt—”

“—He wasn’t even wearing _socks_ —”

“—Hey, yous don’ts either, yous . . . tjock älg!”[1]

“The fuck did you just call me?”

“You heards me!”

“You wouldn’t let me finish!”

“ _You_ wouldn’ts lets _me_ finish!”

“God—You just fucking spit on me!”

Charles cleared his throat. “Perhaps this conversation would be better at a lower volume. If you could both sit down again—”

“What’s ams yous problsem!”

“What’s _your_ problem!”

“I see. So, ah, you’re just going to ignore me now.”

“It was just somes boots! Nots like I stretches thems out for yous, but you _ruins_ a whole of mine outfits. I hads to gets all new clothes!”

“Oh, yeah, because black shirts and black belts are sooooo hard to replace. I _liked_ those boots, now I have to break in new ones!”

“Well, for the record, I tried. If the two of you don’t mind, I’m just going to go back to work then.” Charles went back to his desk, choosing not to remark on the way the two men were stomping their feet and inching slightly toward each other with each volley. 

“ _What ams so wrong with mines feet you got to throw thems out ins the forst place?”_

“ _Feet have the worst smell of all the body parts and you know it!”_

“ _That amn’ts true, what about you’s dick whats stinks up mine pants, misters freeballings guy!”_

The back and forth went on for a while. Charles glanced up from what he was working occasionally to mark their progress, but after several moments became thoroughly engrossed in a task. He missed the exact moment Nathan and Skwisgaar went from standing nose to nose still yelling to furiously making out, and therefore which one of them had technically given in first. When the reduced volume alerted him to the change, he sighed and started gathering up his papers and laptop. 

It had been, what, a week of waiting each other out? A week for the legendary frontman of Dethklok and the World’s Fastest Guitarist was like a year for a regular person. He knew where this was headed, and frankly he didn’t need to see it. 

* * *

**Epilogue**

* * *

“So, uh, that was. . . .”

“Ja. Kinds of wish I can has a cigarettes rights now.”

“Me too.”

“Maybes there ams somesthing tos this makeups sex thing.”

“Ja.”

There was a long pause. 

“Can’ts believes it tooks you a wholes week to kisses me.”

“Uh, it took _you_ a whole week to kiss _me_.”

“Fucks yous, you ams unspossible.”

“I can’t believe you wanted me to kiss you that whole time and never said anything.”

“I acskivesly hates you for not kissings me days ago.”

“Well fuck you too, I guess we’re fighting again!”

“Whats. . . . Oh—! Ja, I guess we ams!”

“Well then I guess we have to desecrate more of Offdensen’s furniture, then!”

“If you takes me over thats desk I will _never speaks to you agains!”_

“Uh, wait, really?”

“. . . Nej.”

“Well okay then! _I guess I have no choice, you dick!”_

_“I guess you don’ts, jerkoffs!”_

_“Well get over here then!”_

_“Fuckings make me!”_

_“Oh, I will!”_

_“You wouldn’ts d_ —”

* * *

1Thick/fat moose, according to Google Translate. Return to text


End file.
